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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24954412">just a few more</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/gay_writes_with_mac/pseuds/gay_writes_with_mac'>gay_writes_with_mac</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Denara [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Walking Dead (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Denise is also a lesbian, F/F, Fluff, gay shit, i wrote this in the notes app, no beta we die like men, tara is a lesbian, there is not enough good tara/denise fic and I’m going to fix that</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:29:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>542</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24954412</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/gay_writes_with_mac/pseuds/gay_writes_with_mac</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tara’s teaching Denise to fight, but Denise isn’t suited to it at all. She is, however, pretty suited to Tara Chambler.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tara Chambler/Denise Cloyd</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Denara [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1782724</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>just a few more</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">“Just a few more, babe.”</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tara’s machete is splattered with the dried grass insides of the combat dummies she’d propped up on sticks for them, her shirt speckled with a fine coating of hay dust. All around the clearing are slashed-up corpses of scarecrow enemies. And besides a faint rosy tinge to her cheeks and a fine layer of sweat on her sun-pinkened arms that glistens in the light, she doesn’t even look tired.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">But Denise doesn’t have her hard-won stamina, and she’s drenched in sweat, her blonde hair darkened by perspiration and plastered to her sticky skin. She’s panting; she lost her breath nearly twenty minutes ago and hasn’t managed to get it back since. She doesn’t have nearly the same coating of hay innards or the pile of mock bodies her girlfriend’s managed to accumulate.</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“Tara,” she pants, bent double with her hands braced on her knees. “Tara, I </span> <span class="s3"><em>can’t</em>.</span><span class="s2"> You know I can’t, I’m not - I’m not </span> <em><span class="s3">good</span></em> <span class="s2"> at this - I’m hopeless, Tara...”</span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You’re getting better!” Tara insists at once, even though suggesting that Denise has improved at all is generous to the point of absurdity. “You got that one over there, just about ripped its head off-“</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“Tara. Baby. These ones don’t </span> <span class="s3">move</span> <span class="s2"> and I can barely kill them.”</span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You’ll get better!” Tara insists again. “I used to be awful, I couldn’t kill them even from a distance, you just need practice-“</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“I don’t need </span> <span class="s3">practice,</span> <span class="s2"> I need an - an </span> <em><span class="s3">act of God. </span></em> <span class="s2">This isn’t me, Tara, it just isn’t.” Denise shakes her head with a short laugh, kicking at the dust of the earthen floor of the clearing. “It’s never going to be.”</span></p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">Tara sighs, letting her machete drop back into its sheath on her hip. “You’re...you’re not a natural. You’re never going to be a </span> <span class="s3">great </span> <span class="s2">fighter</span><span class="s3">. </span> <span class="s2">But...I just want you to be safe. I want you to be able to protect yourself if...if I can’t.”</span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You don’t have to worry about me,” Denise says softly, reaching out for Tara’s callused hand. Her own are much softer, calluses just beginning to form on the pads of her fingers. “I promised you I wouldn’t leave, remember? Wouldn’t go outside the walls...?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“The day might come that you don’t have a choice.” Tara takes her hand, squeezing it firmly. “We’ve already been overrun once. It could happen again. I was terrified for you the last time...I just...I want to know you can protect yourself. If you have to.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">Denise sighs, looking up from the dusty earth into Tara’s deep chocolate brown eyes. “...a few more. </span> <span class="s3">Just</span> <span class="s2"> a few more. And...you have to make it up to me tonight.”</span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tara grins, showing her teeth, the faint smile wrinkles at the corners of her mouth crinkling. “And how could I do that, pretty girl?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Denise flushes to her very hairline, squeezing Tara’s hand. “Oh, um - you have to have an actual dinner with me where we both sit down and you stay there until your plate is clean. And then cuddle with me. And stay there. Until tomorrow morning and I am awake instead of going to work. I want a good morning kiss I’m actually awake for.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You’ve got yourself a deal, butterfly.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div></div>
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